


Mother's Monologue

by AmadErik



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: Erik has Issues, Gen, Poor Erik, The Phantom's mother, motherly hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 04:42:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15477921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmadErik/pseuds/AmadErik
Summary: The desperate widow is left alone with a monster as a child, who has no proper face, not even a nose. A toddler who brings only bad memories to her and disgust. How does she feel for the child?





	Mother's Monologue

Every woman on Earth is praying for a child.

All girls are trained and raised in the manner and thought of one day, they are turning to be a wife, and then, a mother. Nine months are being spent in various inconveniences, mingled with otherworldly excitement to be able to finally see that baby growing under one’s heart, and convincing oneself that these much pain and uncomfortable feelings will worth it in the end.

I remember how much I imagined your face when I closed my eyes, I tried to guess who you will resemble. Will you look like your father or me? Maybe you even inherit your grandparent’s features? Will your eyes be blue or green? Or brown, like mine? I mostly did picture you with blondish brown hair and light green eyes, as a smaller copy of your father. Even though his hair was turning gray, he still had beautiful blondish hair, and I wished you would carry on his looks. I often wondered if you will become a boy or a girl. Your father wanted a son, I secretly yearned for a pretty little daughter. He would repeat all day that a firstborn should only be a boy…

Well. Here that “boy” is. Here you are. For more than three years, you are here to stay, sadly.   
So many children are taken nowadays by various illnesses and diseases. The neighbor’s two year old daughter was just buried as she died in smallpox. You caught it as well, but you seem to be fine now. And I even helped you, and felt sorry for you, wanting your fever to break. I don’t understand myself. On every other days of your life, I wished you dead, and now that you were so close to it, I prayed for your survival. God listened to me. You are still here. 

I am blessed with my ‘child”. 

But what kind of a child you are? How in God’s name can a human being look like you? You are not even a human, I am sure. You are just a THING. You don’t resemble any human being I have ever seen. Not any of my relatives… You have ugly yellow skin, you are thin as a skeleton, I wonder how on Earth those spindle-legs can support your weight. How did you learn to walk? How can you follow me around the house, like a disgusting, frightful shadow? Oh those sunken, non-existent eyes of yours, that remain fixed at me all the time… they fill me with horror. I wish you just stopped staring at me. And when night falls or you are in a dark room, they even turn worse, as they start reflecting the light they collect, glowing yellow. You are a damned owl! You stare at me like a stupid mindless bird. But the worst trait your skull head has still aren’t your malformed ugly lips or your evil owl – eyes, oh no! The most disgusting and repulsive part of you is that nose you don’t have. I put the mask on you because of the enormous hole you have in the middle of your ugly face. 

How could I look at you for more than a moment without my stomach being turned if you didn't wear it, tell me? I know you don’t like it. You try to remove it from your death’s head, thankfully, you are not that smart to know how. I doubt you are smart at all. You don’t talk, even though you are more than three years old. Any other child would say a few words before they turn two, but you don’t talk at all. I wonder if you even think of anything, or just spend your days blankly staring at me. You dull thing. You stuff. You miserable patchwork. 

I know I am not supposed to feel this way about you. I know I have to take care of you, as I gave life to you. I am your mother, however I loathe the thought of giving birth to something like you… Every single day since your birth I have to face the emotions of disgust, pity and hatred at the same time. I hate myself, and I hate you for making me feel this way. This is the Circle of Hell. You don’t work on making me get to like you, as you do absolutely nothing other than forcing your stomach turning presence on me, following me around, clinging to the hem of my dress with your corpse fingers, looking up at me without a break. I only have some peace and privacy when you sleep. You sleep too little time for my taste, and when you wake up, you appear again. What do you want of me, really? You don’t talk, you don’t act normally, so what on Earth do you want? You are not a child. You are a stupid clingy mini corpse. 

There are some days I hate you so much for being here, like a monster that I could burn every piece of furniture you touch with those cold hands. You are so unbearably cold. You accidentally touched my bare skin sometimes, on my hand, and since that I keep wearing my gloves so I don’t have to feel your freezing little claws again. Only your fever could make you as warm as a human being. I have to protect myself from your touch, so I wear gloves. I have to protect myself from your sight, so I make you wear a mask. 

But the worst thing isn't this. Maybe I could slowly but steady get used to your appearance if I wanted to. But I can never forget and forgive what you have done to me. You aren't only an ugly corpse, and you don’t only make my life miserable by your accursed ugliness… But the fact you murdered someone, who was the dearest to me in my life other than my own parents, it is unforgivable. You killed your own father, my dear husband. That’s why I am here, stuck with you in a house, without anyone to at least ease my pain and loneliness. I have no one to talk to, because of you. The moment he took a glimpse of your horrid features, he gasped, turned pale and put his hand on his chest. He fell to the ground… and never woke up again! Do you know what it felt like to be left alone after giving birth, with a dead husband and a baby like you? Can you imagine how hard it was to hide you when the doctor came to state that the love of my life had passed away? Because of you! 

Your face caused his death! I will never forgive you! 

You… thing… 

And the Father, when you wanted to baptize you… he told me to give you a name. How on Earth should I have given a name to a murderer, to a corpse, to a disgusting THING! What name should you deserve? There is no name, not even the most unpleasant sounding one that would fit your face, and your first act of your birth. I finally gave you a name, the most common one you can imagine. But I refuse to call you by it ever. I refuse to call you by any name. It would indicate you were actually a human being, while you are most certainly not. 

Why you are on this Earth, tell me? Why are you alive? You do nothing but make my life miserable day by day. Your existence has no point at all, other than just being a nuisance. You have no hope for a normal life. You have no hope for even turning out somewhat smart. You can’t talk at all... I can be somewhat happy and thankful that you were at least able to learn to use the chamber pot, so I don’t have to change your diaper any more. I did not think you had so much brain to turn out to be potty trained in the end. You will end up spending your days like this, without a single word, just walking around in the house after me until I finally slowly wither away next to you. You dumb and ugly creature. You pitiful excuse of God’s creature. No one and nothing will ever want or need you. I wonder if any other woman who gives birth and finds out they have a monster as a baby, what they would do with you. I am sure no other woman would want a child like you either. They would scream and kick you off of the bed just as I did. And that’s how I saved your life. You did not cry out at birth, and if I did not kick you off of the bed, maybe you would have never turned out to be alive. I saved your miserable life while you took my husband’s. It was an accident, you can thank your life for!

In all your life, I wanted you dead. I wanted God to be righteous. If you took a life, he should take yours in return! But you stay and stay, surviving each and every illness you get. You just had smallpox… And yet I still did not want to see you dead. Why? WHY? 

Oh, go away… go away! Do you understand at all what am I telling you? No, of course not. Don’t dare to sneeze again, I will have to clean your “nose” again, that is something I am so much tired of. Don’t touch me again, do you hear me? Again you cling to my dress. Leave me alone. Stop babbling, you thing! That’s all you can do, babbling, you little murderer. 

Go away… go away… go away!


End file.
